


For Every Day That I Missed You

by leftrightleftrighthutpresentarms



Category: Simo Häyhä | The White Death - Fandom, Winter War - Fandom, Wolves of Karelia, talvisota - Fandom
Genre: Damn, I can't read the original story anymore because it makes me cry, M/M, Oh god, couldn't let M and Simo stray apart, what we needed
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-02
Updated: 2021-03-14
Packaged: 2021-03-15 13:29:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 17,397
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29809146
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leftrightleftrighthutpresentarms/pseuds/leftrightleftrighthutpresentarms
Summary: After Simo finds M at his door, they spend days together. Focuses on little moments. They feel the warmth of love.Set after my other works Let Me Take You Home and We Are Us Again. Though, reading those aren't mandatory, this is still understandable.
Relationships: Simo Häyhä | The White Death/M
Comments: 7
Kudos: 6





	1. "Kettuseni, You Are Magical."

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Wolves of Karelia](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/769503) by Arna Bontemps Hemenway. 



> Simo's POV. Not written to disrespect him, as you know. I'm such a big fan of him.  
> Didn't proofread it, might proofread it tomorrow. I am tired.

We get up.

I cook up some food. He sits on the kitchen chair, observing me. There’s a comfortable silence. I break it:

“Remember the nights that we silently waited on snow?”

He giggles. I hand him a warm cup of coffee.

“Yes, I’ve never forgotten. You know, your presence next to me was something magical.”

It makes my heart jump to hear that he was feeling the same thing.

He takes a sip from the coffee and smiles warmly at me:

“My favorite…”

“Of course, I’ve never forgotten a single detail of yours.”

I put our food on the plates. There is just one kitchen chair, so I stand there and try to think of a way.

He gets up and gestures me to sit down. I object, but he has his way. In the end, I am sitting and he is standing right next to me, we are both eating. Silence again. I slide just a little bit on my chair so that I can get closer to him. He puts his hand on my shoulder, so casually.

He always had this charm. He was always so casual. In war, he would casually put his arm around me. He would casually hold my hand and show me the sunset excitedly. He would put his hands on my cheeks casually, admiring my eyes…

When I finish eating, I get up. I am shorter than him -he is a head taller than me. I press my head to his chest, hugging him. His arms embrace me. Then he lifts my chin.

I see his smile. His smile is just as young as our old times.

“Kettuseni, you are magical.”

I give him a thick sweater, one of mine. He wears it, I choose mine matching too. He is quick to notice:

“Look at us!”

I scratch the back of my neck, slightly shy:

“It’s… well… cute, you know?”

He loves that. I understand it from the way he plants a little kiss on my nose. He whispers as he walks up to the door:

“You’re cute.”

We take a walk. I take him to the woods ( ** _our_** woods). It is April. There is some snow on the ground, though it has melted in some parts. As we walk the old paths, sunshine finding a way to fall on us through the trees, he holds my hands. His fingers dance on mine, stroking my palm. I turn my head to look at him. He is so casual once again, so focused on the scenery. This makes me think, is he even aware that he is making me this happy?

Maybe he reads my mind. He turns to me, blue eyes shaking me to my core. His grip gets tighter, I mutter some stuff that I can’t even make out, and he hugs me. We start to swing slowly as if dancing. On a white sea of snow, under the vast sky, only witnesses to our little hug-dance are the pine trees. The same trees that witnessed our long nights of waiting, now witness our reunion.

He puts his other hand on my shoulder, guiding me in this slow dance. We don’t even have a song, we don’t need it anyway. This moment is just enough.

In the end, he leans in just enough to let me reach his lips. He lifts me a few inches off the ground, our laughter echoing young.

We fall in the snow. Actually, he does. I fall on him. We don’t make a move to get up, though. We just lay, heart to heart, hand to hand.

“Remember the times that you picked up daisies?”

“You loved them, didn’t you?”

Confused, I look at his face:

“How did you know?”

“Why do you think I kept making daisy crowns? The first time you saw it, your eyes became so bright with the purest form of happiness that I just wanted to see it again and again.”

Maybe I should have read romance books because I don’t even know how to respond. All I have is a chuckle and a shy smile. He pulls me to himself, though. We are cold in the snow but warm with each other.

We get up and walk home. On the path, he finds a few daisies. Not much enough to make a crown, yet he finds a way to put them in my hair.

Looking deep into his eyes, I wonder, is this how warm love feels, enough to make the snow melt?

We change our clothes into warmer ones. We just want to spend the day lazily, so we lay on the bed once again. We don’t care about wearing sweaters to bed. This is our home, those are our rules.

My head on his chest, his hand in my hair, I speak softly:

“You know… I’m so glad that I left you that letter.”

Under my head, I feel his heartbeats getting faster. He brings his lips closer to me and whispers:

“I must have read it a hundred times, Kettuseni. Thinking about our times…”

“Every day I was afraid if you hadn’t read that…”

“Shh, shh… It made me cry every time…”

I am sobbing at this point. The letter I left to him in the hospital, begging him to let me take him home…

“It hurt when you didn’t look into my eyes in the hospital…”

“No, no… Don’t cry, shh… Your eyes were my life, Kettuseni. If I looked into your eyes, I would desperately want to stay alive. You know how sick I was, walking the line between life and death… I was too afraid to leave you behind, I just stopped thinking and made myself believe that you were just an illusion, the best illusion ever…”

I don’t know when I fell asleep. I wake up and find his hands still in my hair. I shift and place my head on his neck, feeling the warmth. He opens his eyes, says nothing. His fingers trace words on my hair, that’s all.

I look into his eyes. He looks into mine.

Our eye contacts are as powerful as magnets, pulling us close. It makes the whole world stop, puts a curtain of blur between us and reality. In blue dreams, we sail. In blue dreams, we are fearlessly lost.

His thumb traces my lips. None of us is smiling, but none of us is sobbing either. His hand slowly switches and he starts stroking my old scar on my left cheek.

I open my mouth, probably attempting to ask him to ignore it or something. He shushes me even before I can make a sound.

He speaks like a melody:

“I love it.”

He traces every line, every patch of it. He holds it warmly. He treasures it. I finally feel whole, truly loved, truly held.

I do not want to heal. I just want to be held. And he does just that. He holds me and even loves my details that I try to ignore.

When he plants a kiss on my scar, I shiver. No, there is no pain. It isn’t cold either. It’s just this strange feeling, our old times suddenly becoming new. Our love, so natural and so silent… I close my eyes.

His kisses so loving, so caring, so accepting; not meaning to say those out loud, I whisper:

“I think I am loved.”

He just needs to tilt his head a few inches. His aim was always good and I see it once again as he aims his lips on mine.

Pulling back to breathe, I whisper again:

“Every day, I hopelessly waited…”

And he kisses me again, warm and tightly embracing, answering in the end:

“This is for every day that I missed you.”


	2. "Your Berry Cheeks"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Simo and M spending days together until M has to run a little errand...

After breakfast, we decide to stay in today. He hugs me, lifts me up, makes me laugh so much. I just feel like there is something in me, something is… hurting me.

Sitting in my living room/bedroom, his hands cupping mine, he traces his thumb on my fingers softly. He does it with so much care that you would think he was cleaning a rifle. I look into his eyes and find him already watching me. I feel that thing hurting in me again, I sigh. His eyebrows raise in worry:

“Kettuseni, is everything alright?”

His straightforward question catches me off-guard. I can’t answer. How can I, when I feel sad and there is nothing wrong at all?

He asks again:

“Kettuseni?”

His fingers play with my hair as if petting fox ears. He kisses my nose and cheeks as if I am a fox. He loves me like a fox, his little fox.

I just bury my face in his chest. What else can I do, when his chest has been my home since the long war nights? This is the purest reflex of humans, to find a place to be safe. My brain decides that his heart is my safety… and he knows it.

I admit with a sigh:

“I’m not feeling well.”

“Is there a certain problem?”

“I don’t know… something feels so… weird.”

“I think I know it.”

I look into his eyes, askingly. He touches my nose with his, and answers, his warm breath on my face:

“It feels weird after all the time passed, right? Like a dream, and you can’t believe it. You feel like you will wake up.”

I nod. He knows me better than I know myself.

His hand holds my chin, his larger frame embracing me easily, he gets closer to me and speaks:

“Then, Kettuseni, if this was just a dream, would you be able to feel this?”

I close my eyes. I feel his soft lips again.

This has become a habit for us and I can do this forever.

I allow my muscles to go weak in his arms. He holds me and I feel like I am floating. He never breaks the kiss. His fingers dance on my cheek. We pull away to breathe. I rest my head next to his, my cheek touching his chin. I suddenly start chuckling. He looks into my eyes and I speak:

“Your stubble tickles me.”

He laughs too. I kiss his chin. He doesn’t move. When I pull away, I see that his eyes are closed and he has the calmest smile on his face.

He sits on my rocking chair as I search my library for books that he might like. I occasionally throw him books to catch, he receives them perfectly each time. A book pile on his lap starts to form. After a while, I notice that he has been whistling a melody. This gives me another idea.

I take out my record player and my records. I put one of them on, lower the needle and a melody fills the room.

He recognizes it, smiling shyly:

“Is that…”

“Yes, it is.”

It was the song that he’d been singing when we first met. It had stuck in my head, not because of the melody but because of him. During our long nights in the snow together, he would sing it in a whisper, making me feel warmer. After the war, I kept singing it to myself, missing him each time. Then I managed to find a record of it, playing it again and again on hard days.

He puts the book pile away and gets up. He offers me his hand. I breathe in deeply, surprisedly staring:

“I… don’t know how to dance…”

“It’s alright. I can teach you.”

So I take his hand.

He places his other hand on my waist. He pulls me to himself as he takes a few steps to back, then to right, then to back again. He makes a pattern out of it. I try to keep up with his big steps.

Somewhere between our breathing, I hear him singing.

His eyes are young once again. His face is young, hair messy and decorated with a daisy crown. His uniform matching mine, we are in the snow. After a long night, under the sunrise, dancing on the frozen lake. We are young again, my scar disappears, I feel my white camouflage on me.

When the song ends, I am back in the living room again. His eyes are there, this time they are old too -they have seen things. Yet, there is something in them. There is so much love, more than there’s ever been.

At night, he wakes me up.

“Kettuseni, are you alright?”

Not even realising what is going on, I frown:

“What?”

“Talking in your sleep…”

“Oh, again? I’m so sorry, you will have to get used to it. It’s… I can’t control it.”

“It’s okay, it’s okay… Just your words made me worry.”

“What did I say?”

He pulls me to himself, readjusts the blanket to tuck us softly under.

“Not important, Kettuseni, not important at all…”

His hand reaches my back, starts giving me a soft massage/back scratch. I close my eyes and sleep starts to take over me. He whispers, thinking that I’m asleep:

“How can’t I worry? I should have let you take me home that day… You relive that moment in your dreams still, don’t you?

I don’t say anything, he still isn’t aware that I’m awake. I fall asleep.

In the morning, I wake up earlier than him. I don’t make a sound, just enjoying the way his chest going up and down, his lips slightly parted, his breathing making a whistle-kind of a sound. I can’t move because I don’t know what to do. I want to hug him but I can’t decide how. I wish I could grow a few more arms to embrace him, maybe then it would feel satisfying enough. I simply can’t get enough of him.

I also think of what he said last night. Did I really talk about that day? That letter I left on his bedside table in the hospital? My broken heart when he didn’t look into my eyes? The way we were both walking the line between life and death that we tried to hide our emotions as much as we could? What did I say in my sleep? And the way he still thinks about that day… He wanted to come home with me. Home. Not just any home, but our home. Our home… And he is here now.

He shifts in the bed. I cannot help it, I embrace him. He wakes up with a smile, his voice trying to say some stuff like a melody but his sleepy-mind doesn’t help him much. I am unable to make out his words, I can see that he is chuckling though. I lower my face on his and listen:

“Sunshine inside home, right next to me…”

I chuckle shyly. His hands brush my cheeks:

“You blushed.”

I rub and cover my cheeks. He pulls my hands away:

“No, I love them. Let me admire them. Like berries.”

I cook breakfast. He looks quite sleepy still. I put our plates down and we eat in silence, occasionally making eye contact and smiling.

After breakfast, he suddenly turns his head to me and asks casually:

“Simo, where are the clothes that I was wearing when I came?”

I get confused. Did he call me Simo? Not Kettuseni? Not even Simuna? I answer anyway.

“I… think I put them in the drawer. One of the drawers, yeah.”

He feels my sad tone. I see that his smile is sad too.

“I had to tell this to you. I will have to…”

“No, please don’t tell me that you are going again…”

“I have a little thing, a little errand to run… But after that, I will be back, Simo, I promise.”

Without a word, I get up and find his clothes from the drawer. I put them neatly on his lap. I can’t even look into his eyes, but I can’t step away either.

“Simo…”

“Don’t say that.”

“What?”

“Don’t call me Simo. Call me Kettuseni. Please. I feel warm when you call me Kettuseni. I need warmth. I need you. I don’t want you to go, but…”

“It’s just a little errand, I pro…”

“You are a free human, we both know it. I can’t just make you stay. Plus, you aren’t mine anyway…”

He gets up suddenly, the clothes on his lap falling on the ground.

“Sim- Ah, Kettuseni…”

I can’t say a word. He lifts my chin so that I’m looking into his eyes. I see a tear falling from his blue eyes. I can’t speak because I know that I will start crying if I make the slightest sound.

He plants a long kiss on my nose, then burying his nose on my hair for two seconds. He takes the clothes on the ground, suddenly turns around and walks to the door. I hear him trying to cover his sobs as he walks out.

I can’t handle it.

Nights are so long. It’d only been a few days together but I still long for his presence next to me. My arms reach to the empty space, wanting to hug him. I keep lifting my chin, hoping that my lips will be met with his. I shift in bed uncomfortably, not able to bump into his body next to mine. The house is so silent, it isn’t a home anymore. I didn’t know that I was this addicted to him.

The hardest thing was when a bug landed on my hair today. My mind thought it was his fingers in my hair again… and I broke down crying.

On my pillow, I saw a strand of hair. It belonged to him. I put my cheek on it, not knowing what to do.

I’ve been thinking of getting rid of that record, but I know that nothing will be able to take the song out of my hand. I cannot even manipulate myself into thinking that he was just a dream. His warmth, his lips, his stubble tickling me, his thumb brushing my fingers… they were all so real, felt even more real than anything else I’ve had in this life. It was more real than the feeling of bullets in my hands, the snow in my mouth, cold wind on my face.

Didn’t he say that he wished he could come home with me sooner? What if he was sleeptalking too? But it didn’t sound like that, plus his hands were still scratching my back.

I don’t feel like eating at all. I pick up a few berries and they are red. They remind me of how he called my blushed cheeks berries. I start crying again.

I feel weak. Weaker than I’ve ever been. Just when I had him back, he is gone again.

I mean, not that he belongs to me. Not that he is mine. He just appeared one day, we didn’t have a contract or something. He doesn’t belong to me. I bet he just came for a visit, didn’t he? He probably has many things to handle. It took him almost two years to come back to me. He said he had to run an errand. Maybe it will take a few years, maybe half a century. I don’t even know anymore. But, he is a free man. And I don’t think that I could ever tell him how much I love him. Maybe he thought I didn’t love him. Maybe he…

I try to hug the bedsheets, maybe hoping that his scent is still there.

I feel so tired. Thinking makes me tired. It’s been four days and I get out of my bed just to eat, then I fall back asleep. I am still tired, though. Unaware of time, only thing I know is that I need him and he is not here.

I hear a sound at night. It sounds like an animal walking. I don’t bother to listen closer. It can be a wolf. I’m not afraid of wolves. It will try to claw the door a bit, walk around, then get bored and go. Not worth any attention. I don’t think that it is a bear, as they don’t wander around in here.

The sound comes closer. I still don’t bother to get up and check it. I shut my eyes and try to sleep, hoping that it will go away. Any moment I spend awake reminds me of him and it hurts.

I suddenly jerk awake with something touching my hair. I jump to my feet, trying to see what it is.

“Shh Kettuseni shh, I came back.”

Something heavy is put on the ground.

“Is that really you?”

“Of course I am, I kept my promise.”

“What is it that you brought?”

“My suitcase… Took the few stuff I had and came… To stay forever with you.”

I don’t remember that moment well, to be honest.

I remember starting sobbing, I remember his melodic voice, I remember his arms around me again, I remember his stubble on my lips, I remember us tucked under the blanket with matching sweaters again.

When I wake up, the bed is empty.

Just when I was about to cry again, he enters the room:

“Good morning, Kettuseni.”

I smile. He smiles too. Our smiles have a hint of sadness, though.

“Good morning…”

“Look, I wish I came home with you that day…”

“I heard you whispering those.”

A tear falls from his eyes:

“Not only that, I think of it every day. I’m so sorry that I left you alone with your thoughts all the time. I just had to…”

I wait for him to finish his sentence. He sighs and continues:

“Look Kettuseni, just as much as you wonder about if this is reality or not, I wonder the same thing. I thought… if I could take a few days away then I would see if it was…”

“If it was better for you?”

“No. If it was better for you, Kettuseni.”

I shake my head:

“It’s so lonely without you. Do you know how much I tried to hug the air, the pillow, the bedsheets? I…”

“Shh, shh…”

He brushes his finger on my lips. He whispers:

“I just don’t want to hurt you.”

“You never hurt me, you only heal me…”

“I… Is that true?”

This time, I cup his cheeks:

“Of course it is, my dear wolf.”

His face softens. His mouth opens in surprise and it turns into a smile.

I kiss him.

He puts his clothes in our drawers as I cook the breakfast.

I serve the food on the plates. I gesture him to sit down. He stands there idly.

“Come, let’s eat. You must be hungry.”

He doesn’t answer. I get right in front of him and get on the tip of my toes. Our eyes match.

He reaches his pocket with a sigh. He takes out a box and gives it to me. He looks away.

I open it.

It has little photos of me and us. I take them in my hand, smiling. In the bottom of the box, though…

I am frozen.

He looks into my eyes shyly.

“I…”

I put the ring on my finger and put my hands on his shoulder to reach and kiss him. He tries to speak:

“I actually wanted to… give it on a walk, in snow, but… couldn’t wait… not good at stuff like that…”

I silence him with an eager kiss.

I break it for a mere second to whisper:

“You are perfect.”

“I just wanted you to know that… you know, after you said before I went away… I wanted you to know that I am yours, I…”

I kiss him again.

And he is smiling so happily. We don’t even have a trace of sadness anymore.

He touches my blushed cheeks. He chuckles:

“Your berry cheeks…”

Then he picks me up and presses me to his heart.

The house feels like home and I feel home.


	3. "Come Here For A Little While"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> M and Simo spending time together. M also reveals a surprise.

He scratches the back of his neck, shy.

Laying on his chest on the bed, I am admiring the ring on my finger. It is quite simple, just silver with two little engraved letters: M and S.

I whisper:

“This is way too beautiful…”

He plays with my hair, his lips brushing my cheek:

“You are way too beautiful.”

I put my hand next to his. His hands are bigger. It makes me smile when he holds my hand with his. I bury my face into his sweater -which was mine, but now it’s his! It fits him, even though it's a little short on him.

“Are you sleepy, Kettuseni?”

“Well, not yet, I just… love to feel you here, you know? Hearing your heart.”

Without even looking, I know that he is smiling. His heartbeats get quicker.

I raise my chin and my face finds the crook of his neck. I feel his warm breath on my hair. He scratches my back softly.

“No, don’t scratch my back, I will fall asleep again if you do!”

He chuckles:

“And I will hold you in my arms till you wake up.”

“Ah… To be honest, I would love that.”

He scratches my back to sleep. I hear him whisper somewhere through the fog of my sleep:

“I love you, Kettuseni, I love you too much, you can never fully understand that.”

When I wake up, he kisses me. I see his eyes so bright, carrying stars in them.

  


We get up, wear our coats and take a walk.

Snow is melting slowly. The weather is still cold though. In the breeze, our breaths make a fog. We laugh at that.

Then our eyes match.

Blue. It’s the blue that drowns us. Blue is a lock that can never be broken. My mind goes blank, it’s just the blue of his eyes. As his pupils dilate, I get closer to him. I feel his breath warming my face. Unaware, I whisper:

“Blue.”

“Huh?”

I don’t care to explain the rest. Getting on the tip of my toes, I brush my thumb over his eyelids. I feel his breathing deepen under my chest. He closes his eyes.

Then I do what he always does to me. I kiss his nose. It makes him chuckle suddenly. His voice, decorated with a laugh:

“It’s so cute!”

“You are cute!”

He leans in and I can reach his nose easier. I kiss it again and again. After a while, our lips meet.

  


I hold his hand. The muffled sound of our footsteps on thinning snow is the only thing we can hear. We walk, our steps slow and aimless. We just wander. I sometimes pull his hand in a direction to lead our path, that’s quite casual though. We look around. We don't even need to look at each other. We know every step. Even I cannot explain the reason, but it is quite comfortable. We only feel each other by the embrace of our fingers. He stops and looks at the sky, so I do the same. That’s when I look at him.

After walking in cold weather for this long, he is breathless. I notice that I am, too.

“Would you like to relax for a little while?”

“It would be nice, Kettuseni.”

We lay on the ground on our backs, looking at the sky.

“The snow will melt in a few days.”

I turn my head and look at his face:

“Yeah, it will. Then spring will come.”

He smiles:

“Spring.”

Just this word is enough to send us dreaming.

  


I don’t know how long it took, but we got up. We continue walking.

“You know, Kettuseni…”

“Hm?”

“I loved every moment.”

This gives me goosebumps of warmth. He continues:

“Remember Christmas?”

I realise the painful fact that I never say some words out loud. I keep the sentences to myself, unnamed long trains of thought that I never let out. But looking into his eyes, I know that he has to hear what I am feeling. So I sigh, take a deep breath, gather my courage and speak:

“You were singing and I loved that. It felt warm, in a tent, songs and drinks. Everyone was laughing, happy. But it wasn't the loveliest part.”

I don’t think that he has ever heard me speak that much and that deeply about something. His eyes are full of sparks. I continue:

“The lovely part was when we went to our tent. We were both drunk, a bit dizzy, actually quite drowsy. Remember how I tripped and almost fell? You caught me like a dancer and I laughed in your arms. I still feel the same warmth of your fingers gently keeping me safe.”

And I take a step to him.

He holds me and I let my muscles go weak. Just like that day, his arms around me. I speak, this time in a whisper, so he leans in to hear me well:

“I was quite drunk to remember your words, but I think you called me breathtaking in there.”

“I did, Kettuseni. You were so breathtaking, your cheeks and nose pink, your smile so wide…”

“I was too drunk, I guess…”

“And me too. But even if I was sober, I would still call you breathtaking.”

I smile. I let my thumb brush his lips, speaking:

“I felt how much you cared about me. I knew that I couldn’t lose you, my love.”

“I am here, I am here…”

“You were always with me. Always.”

He puts his hand on my chest, right on my heart, asking:

“Here?”

“Exactly.”

  


At home, I prepare dinner. He is still organising his clothes in the other room. I hear him calling me.

“Kettuseni?”

I answer:

“Yes?”

“Can you come here for a little while?”

I look at the food. It seems cooked. I turn off the stove and walk to the other room.

“Yes, my love?”

He doesn’t answer. I see him kneeled on the ground, looking at his suitcase.

I touch his back. He turns his face to me. He gets up.

“I wanted you to see this…”

He points at the suitcase.

I see a suit on it. I tilt my head, trying to see better. He takes it out and lays it on the bed. I see that there are two suits, one taller than the other one. They are well-tailored. I see that they have white shirts; and two folded ties, one blue and one silver. I reach them, touching to feel the fabric.

He holds my hand, looking into my eyes as I am still examining the suits. He is speaking slowly:

“You know…”

I take the silver tie in my hand:

“This is really beautiful, suits too. But I don’t think that the little one will fit you. It could fit me, though.”

He chuckles. I can’t understand.

“That one is for you, Kettuseni.”

I smile, squeeze his hand:

“Thank you so much! It’s just that… I don’t think we will have a formal occasion to wear them, my love. But they are really wonderful, well-made…”

He puts his hands on my shoulders and turns me to himself:

“Kettuseni.”

“Huh, my love?”

“You know it.”

I am quite confused. He is smiling so warmly. I try to guess:

“You got mine tailored by the sweater of mine that you were wearing, right?”

“Yes Kettuseni, but it’s not that. You know what those are for.”

Wearing a suit in the middle of a lonely house in snowy fields? My confusion doesn’t help. He finally speaks with a chuckle, as I cannot answer:

“Groomswear, Kettuseni. For our wedding.”

  


His fingers touch my ring.

Within the word “wedding”, I feel happy tears form in my eyes. I feel a warmth wash over me. Breathless, I can hardly speak as I am frozen:

“I didn’t think that we would have a wedding…”

“I want to do anything for you, anything. I really want to see you in a suit, with a bouquet in your hand…”

“Oh my God… Even flowers?”

“Yes Kettuseni, yes…”

His thumb brushes over my surprised smile. I’ve never been this happy.

I leave myself in his arms. He hugs me so tightly. I whisper words of love that turn into a melody. He softly sways us, starting a soft dance.

I can finally speak:

“I… just don’t know how I will look, you know? With this scar…”

He cuts my sentence with a sudden kiss.

“Shh. I love you, I love it, I love all of you. You are breathtaking, you will be breathtaking still, my precious. Nothing shall make you worry. You are yourself and that’s what I love.”

He kisses my scar, letting his lips wander on it. I feel quite shy. The scar I hated for so long, being embraced and loved deeply. I can’t believe it. My knees are weak from happiness.

He picks me up and I kiss him. While lowering me to the ground, he whispers in my ear:

“Why don’t we try them on, Kettuseni?”

  



	4. "Terror Always Does."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> M and Simo try their suits on and discuss some important details about the wedding... Including the guest!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Didn't proofread yet. Sorry if there are any typos or mistakes, typed this on my phone.

I take the suit, shirt and the tie. I go to the bathroom and start trying them on in front of the grand mirror.

I button the shirt up. It fits perfectly. I wear the black jacket. To admit, it looks great.

The tie in my hand, I realis that I forgot to tie it. However, my patience is short. I look at the mirror for one last time, my eyes catching my scar but even that not being able to disturb me, I walk out of the bathroom.

He is wearing his jacket. He turns to me.

He is breathtaking.

Stunned, I turn my head and shut my eyes. I can only hear the sound of my breathing. My heartbeats shake my body.

I feel his warm breath on my face. His melody hugs me:

“Kettuseni... is everything okay?”

“Ah... I just don’t know how to react... You are... magnificent.”

His thumb draws a trail over my cheek, playing on my lips. His voice is soft:

“Kettuseni, kettuseni... open your eyes.”

So I do. There is almost no distance between me and his blue eyes. It makes my knees go weak.

His curly dark blond hair that goes brown in shadows. His cheeks that pop out with his smile. His chin, pointing outside, always poking me playfully in our kisses and hugs.

His shirt, without a wrinkle. His black jacket, perfectly tailored for his frame, making me want to lose myself in his arms. And his blue tie, matching his eyes...

I realise that my mouth is open. His eyes look at me, admire me from head to toe. Then his arms are around me, just like my instincts have told me to find a way to cause that. I push myself closer to him and he tightens his hug. His fingers trail the stitches and layers of the suit, making me melt at the same time.

“It fits you wonderfully, Kettuseni.”

I want to return the compliment, to say all the things that went through my mind... but the words are all gone.

“I love you.”

He smiles to that.

It reveals his teeth, not perfectly aligned, but that’s what makes him perfect. The way he loses himself when he laughs is something I’ve always adored, even in the war. And now here, that smile, in front of me, I just want to plant a kiss on it.

So I do.

After we part, he plays with my hair, meanwhile he takes the tie from my hand.

“Is it short?”

“No, I... forgot to tie it, and I was... so excited to see you.”

I get shy.

He unbuttons my jacket and lifts my chin up with his finger. His fingers dance on the collar of my shirt, placing the tie, putting one end over the other, then a loop, some kind of a repeat and finally tying it. He pats it and smiles. Sensing the proud undertone of his grin makes me chuckle.

“Perfect, thank you.”

“You haven’t even seen yourself yet, Kettuseni.”

“I have... in your eyes.”

He chuckles. He puts his hands on my shoulder and walks me to the bathroom. Soon enough, we are standing in front of the mirror that we were standing when he first came. That tine we had matching sweaters on, and a little worry in our hearts. Now, we have suits on, and rings on our fingers...

I turn to him. I admit that I am pretty shy but I don’t want to hide it anymore.

I do what my heart is telling me to do. Every second feels like forever, my heart is beating like a cannon, my breath is deep and quick. I reach his jacket and pull him to myself slightly. He steps forward. I can see that he is curiously trying to see what I am trying to do.

I embrace him. I embrace him harder. Wanting to lose myself in his heart, I press my face to his chest and sigh calmly. My fingers dance on his shoulders and back. I mutter tons of words that have one idea in general: I love him.

And he loves me too.

  


I go to the bathroom and wear my daily clothes. He wears his, too. I give him coathangers and we hang our suits. We smile and hug again.

We finally remember that we were supposed to eat, so we go to the kitchen.

As I warm the food up once again, he massages my back softly, speaking softly:

“I was wondering, Kettuseni... Where would you like to have the wedding?”

My heart skips a beat and I feel my cheeks are blushing. Before I could answer, he laughs:

“Berry cheeks! I wonder if they taste as sweet as they look!”

He leans in and kisses my cheek, mixing a playful bite in. I start laughing too. As I put the food on the plates, he whispers:

“Sweeter than they look.”

Honestly, I can’t even function. He is truly a miracle, unbelievably lovely. Also a magician, probably, because he takes my words away.

  


A few spoons in, I finally answer the former question:

“I think... maybe a church wedding? But...”

“I know a good church, Kettuseni, there is an old priest in there, he is really nice.”

“Is it close?”

“Rautjärvi Church.”

I smile. It’s truly a beautiful one. I nod.

He asks again:

“What about the guests?”

My mouth falls open in surprise:

“Guests? I... don’t have anyone...”

“Me neither. But it doesn’t have to be family, after all, Kettuseni.”

“Right, right...”

We think silently for a little while. Suddenly I get an idea:

“The Terror!”

I can read from his expression that he thinks for a single moment before he realises who I’m talking about. His eyebrows are raised in happiness, a smile takes over his face, bright:

“Oh Lord, The Terror of Morocco! He really should see this!”

“How can we find him though..?”

He thinks for a few minutes, silently eating. I gaze into his blue, thoughtful eyes. He finally meets my eyes and speaks:

“I think I know how to reach him.”

  


We spend the rest of the day, searching through old and new newspapers.

There is a pile of at least a hundred newspapers on the ground. M is on his knees, sorting some of them aside. I am organising them according to the dates. We are scanning the advertisement parts of the pages. They have various things.

One thing is our hope: the times Aarne Juutilainen told us while drunk, how he would do woodwork after the war. He had talent, we could see, he would carve wood often. Most of the time he would hide them, but when he was drunk he was proud of his work. Little figures of wolves and soldiers. He would carve even the smallest details. In the next day, he would seem to forget the most of it and wonder aloud in the field, “Why is my finger skin filled with wood splinters?”

My thoughts are cut by M’s voice. I look at him. He is holding a newspaper in his hand, waving it:

“HE DID IT! HE REALLY DID THAT!”

“He always does!”

On a page, in the corner, there is a little line that says only “Woodwork in Helsinki, A. Juutilainen” with a phone number.

We call it.

We wait. No answer.

“Are you sure that the newspaper is new? Maybe he had changed his number?”

“I’m sure, I’ve sorted to older ones into another pile...”

Before I could finish my words, the phone is answered.

“Hello?”

M and I both freeze. This voice, the voice that commanded us, helped us, occasionally comforted us, sang songs while drunk... The voice whose owner we have called Papa! It’s been years, and we are hearing him again...

“Hello??? Hell, if you-”

I speak:

“Papa?”

No sound comes from the other side. Just a pause, and a sigh.

“Is that...”

M speaks this time:

“Papa, we...”

“No way. No way that this is you, no...”

“It’s us, papa. Both safe and sound.”

“You both made it.”

I sense the happiness in his voice, his grin. A tear falls from my cheek, a tear of happiness. M speaks:

“We did. And you did, too.”

My voice shaky with emotion, I speak:

“Terror always makes it.”

I hear him pause on the other side of the call. He sighs and starts chuckling:

“I just can’t believe that... I...”

“Papa, we called to tell you something.”

His voice gets serious:

“Sure, sure.”

M holds my hand to encourage me to say it. I breathe in. He puts his hand in my hair and I speak:

“Papa, we are... we are getting married. M and I, as husbands, a couple, you know...”

“Oh... oh... oh my...”

I hear him starting to chuckle uncontrollably. He mamages to complete his sentence:

“I knew that you would make it.”

M is surprised:

“What, papa?”

“You are inseparable. I knew that you would find each other again, even though I have heard nothing from you after the war. I knew that, I felt that...”

M and I gaze into each other’s eyes.

“You always feel it papa. We... want you to be our guest.”

His voice is suddenly so energetic, his cheer is sensible:

“When is it?”

M and I have never thought about that. We quickly discuss in a whisper.

“This week. Sunday. Noon, papa.”

We hear him noting stuff on a paper:

“This week... sun...day. Noon. Yes, done. Location?”

“Rautjärvi Church.”

We hear him sigh and chuckle:

“What a lovely place. Any dress code or somrthing? What are the other guests wearing?”

We stay silent.

He understands.

“Oh... Well, what a honor to not leave you alone on your special day. You know that you can always count on me, I will be there.”

“That’s why we love you, papa. Because we always have you, no matter what.”

As we are about to close the phone, M adds:

“Also, congrats on your woodworks! We knew you would make it!”

He thanks us.

We know so well that he is shyly chuckling to himself in Helsinki.

  


We tidy the mess and smile at each other. Without a word, just like magnets, we hug.

“Can you believe it, my love?”

“What, Kettuseni?”

“He sensed it. He felt it! I knew it! He always understands.”

“Terror always does.”

I nod:

“Terror always does.”

  


Laying together on the bed, he massages my back once again. He pulls my hand to his lips and kisses it as I’m about to fall asleep. He whispers:

“I am way too excited. Every moment we spend together is precious. Being your husband will be an honor.”

And I reply with a kiss. I don’t even bother to pull my head back, I just fall asleep with my lips parted right next to his, brushing, and our breaths mixing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Taking my time writing this. I cannot rush this beauty!


	5. "Whole Day Sober?.."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aarne Juutilainen's POV, after the call he decides to make a change or two in his life...

They close the call.

Hearing their voices again…

I cannot really explain but I knew that they would survive.

I remember Simo. He was put on a pile of dead bodies, assumed dead. I saw him as they were rushing him to the hospital because someone noticed that his leg was twitching and he was alive. I wanted to follow him but I couldn’t. I had to lead my troops to the safe area.

I remember his friend too, another brilliant soldier who I nicknamed “The Daisy Warrior”. He had a talent for making daisy crowns, apparently. He always made us laugh so much. Sometimes he would sing as we all gathered in our tent and spent the evening. Among my men, I knew that he was the best to work with Simo. So I partnered them. They never disappointed me. It was the same day when Simo was shot. The Daisy Warrior’s wound looked terrible that everyone was hopeless. Somehow, somehow and somehow, I knew that he would survive. He would be there as long as Simo would be there too.

I breathe in and stay still for a little moment. I feel that I’m tensing my muscles again within the old memories. My eyes catch the date on the calendar. Today is Friday. The wedding will be on Sunday… I smile. Then I start chuckling and find myself whispering:

“Ah Simo, you know that I knew it.”

I get up and continue talking to myself:

“I’d drink to that.”

My gaze scans around the room for a bottle of alcohol. I cannot locate one, which makes me annoyed. I open the door of the woodwork shop that I own and step outside. There must be a shop or something that sells alcohol nearby, just a three minutes walk…

However, I stop myself.

If I will be their guest, I should stay sober.

I shiver at the word “sober” as it passes through my mind. I drink and it causes me a hell lot of problems. Still, I ignore the fact that I am an alcoholic. It’s just a status quo for me, as if it can never change, as if it is as natural as breathing. Nothing to think upon. This makes me unable to break the chain of addiction.

But Simo and The Daisy Warrior have a wedding in two days. And I am their guest.

I close the door and go sit on my chair.

I am their only guest.

It makes me both so honoured and sad. They deserve a lovely and happy wedding with people all around them, laughing. Not a wedding where the only guest is an unstable, alcoholic man.

I just got to do my best. I should stay away from alcohol, at least for a few days. Just for them. I have to…

I sigh. Tons of thoughts pass through my mind. What if I mess it all? Have I ever been to a wedding? I couldn’t even attend my brother Ilmari’s wedding. I mean, even if I could, I still wouldn’t. Because I am an unstable man who keeps ruining stuff, aren’t I?

I rub my eyes. I have to be focused. I am their guest. Their groomsman. I am honoured. They called me, which means that they searched for me, which means that they thought of me. Maybe they care about me. Hell, they care. And I care too much too. I just never say the words out loud, do I?

A question suddenly hits my mind. What the hell am I going to wear?

Grooms wear usually black suits. I bet they would choose that. What do the guests wear? Maybe something slightly different in colour, so that the clothes won’t mix? I would go for grey. But, wouldn’t a full suit look weird? I wore uniforms a lot, the thought of a suit on me is quite weird. I sigh again.

I can wear a white shirt -without any alcohol stains, of course-, I can wear black pants and put a grey jacket on. That would be a good mix of formal and appropriate, I think.

Damn… what if I mess it all up? Their special day…

I really have to be careful.

I live in the large storage next to my shop, which I’ve turned into a little house. It has a little kitchen and a bed, another little room for the bathroom. I check my closet and find an old jacket. I wonder if it will even fit me.

Thankfully, it does. Black pants, one clean shirt, and a blue and white striped tie to complete the outfit, I look in the mirror. Good, not bad. Good enough. I mean, they shouldn’t expect much from their old, drunk commander, right?

A voice in me whispers, “Aarne, you are just a year older than them.”

I swear under my breath. Yeah. Yet my soul is quite worn out. I sigh.

My eyes catch a half-full bottle of alcohol in my bathtub. My hands reach to it, I grasp it, my fingers trace a trail on the cold glass of it. I know that I want to drink. The constant numbness has started to fade out already, I feel like I have a little sober moment for the first time after months. Yet, I want to… It will just take a little sip. Just a little, I…

With a sudden movement, I object to my inner voice and pour the bottle down the drain. I complain to myself:

“What a waste, what a mess. The hell am I even doing with my life?”

Yet, no matter what my alcoholic mind says, I know that I won’t regret it… at least that’s what I’m hoping for.

Brushing my hair behind, shaving my stubble, I can say that I look nice.

I whisper:

“Good, good. I will be good just for them. Their happiest day.”

I chuckle to myself.

Changing my clothes and hanging them in the closet, I sit down once again. I know nothing about wedding etiquette. I feel like I should give them a little gift, at least. I can’t think of anything, though.

What am I good at? Alcohol, weapons, woodworks, carving. I could bring them a bottle of nice champagne but I will not touch an alcohol bottle, no. I will not slip. Plus, I don’t want them to see me again with a bottle of alcohol. Weapons, I bet they have enough hunting rifles and ammo. I also cannot take a rifle to a church, to their beautiful wedding. It would look really weird. Woodworks are a little risky as I don’t know what kind of furniture they could need. Also, transportation would be a little problematic. And, showing up with a huge table or a chair at their door? Really, Aarne?

This leaves me to carving. I take a look at the stacked blocks of wood right next to me. I open my drawer, take my knives and pencil out. I take two little blocks. I start smiling.

I know what exactly I will make.

Somehow, I was always good at sensing. Maybe it was not about that, though. Simo really looked like a fox in his camo, anyone would have noticed that. I think I was drunk one day and gave something like a nickname to him, “Fox the Shooter”. I often give nicknames to my men and they laugh about it. I had called Simo a few different nicknames before, especially when the soldiers wrapped a string of lights around him on Christmas and I called him “Simo The Tree”, singing “O Christmas Tree”. He had laughed about it a lot back then. But the time I called him “Fox The Shooter”, I saw that his cheeks were pink. I thought it was the cold, then I saw his smile take a warmer tone, his gaze away. He was thinking about The Daisy Warrior and I could sense that. I also heard him mentioning The Daisy Warrior with words such as “as strong as a wolf” and so on. Of course, I could connect the dots.

So I carve a fox and a wolf for them. They look pretty sweet and if you bring them close, they look like they are hugging. I chuckle. I find an old box to put them in, try to make a bow on it. Then I continue thinking.

What does a wedding need?

Decoration? It will already be in a church. What else, what else? What do couples even do?

They dance? Alright. Then they chat with guests. Oh no, the guests. I am the only one.

Hell, they deserve better.

I frown as my hand goes to the phone. I enter the number that I still know by heart. I pray that he is home, or wherever the hell his phone is in. My fingers play with the cord, stressfully. With every breath, I feel like I will regret it. However, he picks the phone up and I am just frozen when I hear his voice:

“Hello?”

I cannot answer at all.

“Hello? Anyone there?”

I hear a woman speaking from the back of the end side, saying stuff like, “Is it wrong number, my love?”

He answers her, still keeping the line open:

“I think there is no one on the other side.”

As I feel that he is closing the call, I force myself to speak:

“Illu…”

I only hear a whisper:

“God… No…”

“Illu, I am so sorry, I just…”

“Aarne…”

“I am so sorry, so sorry. Just… I… need you, okay?”

He sighs:

“Did you get in debt, Aarne?”

“No, not that. No. I… I just need to talk with you.”

I hear the woman speak on the other side, “Is it your brother, my love? If he is disturbing you, just clo-”

He shushes her with a “No, not disturbing, darling. Only chatting.”

I feel embarrassed. He is still protecting me after all the times I was drunk and in troubles. He still cares about me.

He speaks to me this time:

“Aarne, look…”

“Helsinki, I have a shop, woodworks shop in Helsinki. I will give you the address, please, can you visit?”

“I…”

“Please, it is really important. I really promise, Illu…”

“Ah f- it. I hope that you are not in trouble or something. Tell me the address, I will write it down.”

“No Illu, don’t worry, I’m alright.”

I tell him the address, my excitement is uncontrollable in my heart. I hear pencil sounds of writing.

“Okay Aarne. When would you like me to visit?”

“As soon as possible, please.”

“Is next Mon-”

“Today or tomorrow would be nice, just any hour”

I hear the shock in his voice:

“WHAT? Aarne, what the…”

“And bring a suit, please. Black pants, a white shirt and a grey jacket would be great. A tie too, though I can give you one.”

“Aarne, can you please explain what-”

“Illu, look. I know how crazy I sound now, but I am sober for the whole day today and I really need you to come here and stay until Monday.”

“Whole day sober?.. Well, that’s an improvement, Aarne… Ah. Just for our old times, I will visit you. But don’t ever get us in trou-”

“Thank you, Illu. I love you.”

I feel that he is smiling:

“Take care, Aarne. Will be there tonight.”

My heart beats in excitement. I take out the old pictures of my Company from the drawers. I spot Simo and The Daisy Warrior. I look at all our faces. We are smiling. I don’t look so drunk in it. My smile blends in. And their smiles are so warm. I wonder if they still have such warm smiles. I pray so. I want them to be happy forever.

I close the shop and go buy some fresh groceries. I start cooking some real food after a long time. Hoping that I won’t burn it, I take a mental note to throw all the empty canned-food trash away.

After I cook, I put it on two plates and organise my messy dining table. I make it clean for me and my brother.

My brother Illu was never fond of my drinking. He was right. He tried to take me out of this addiction but… You can say that I failed. He would get angry naturally, but doing his best to hide it from me.

I look at my bed. I have spare blankets so I can sleep on the floor. I make the bed, clean and nice. I keep checking the hour.

I hear a knock on the door. Swearing at the oil stain on my shirt that I have just noticed -at least it is not an alcohol stain, right?-, I run to the door.

I open it.

Ilmari, my dear Illu is standing there. My little brother, 10 years younger than me, carrying the same nose and mouth shape as I, right in front of me.

He smiled slightly:

“Alright, Aarne. You got me excited and worried, to be honest. What is it?”

I hug him.

I can feel that he is quite surprised, especially because I don’t smell alcohol today. His hands weakly hug me back.

“You wanted to hug me? But why is the suit for?”

I hug him again, so tightly:

“Come in, come in. I will tell you everything. We have to eat first, though. I cooked for you.”

I can say that he is impressed. His eyes scan the cleaned kitchen and land on the table. I take his bag that he put his clothes in, putting them softly aside, I gesture him to sit, so he does. I sit too.

I smile. I look into his eyes and sigh:

“Illu… I am so sorry that I haven’t been much of a good brother. You were only four when I first tasted war, you know. Something went… a different path. You were quite clever and I knew it from the start. Even on the day you were born, when I saw your little fluffy fingers I knew that you would be so clever and talented. I was right. Maybe I was wrong about many things but I was right about this one. I knew it.”

I see him trying to hide his warm smile. I continue:

“You were an amazing pilot. Every time your photographs were on the papers, I cut those carefully and put them in a box, smiling as I checked those occasionally. You were amazing, Illu, and I am so proud of you, if that will mean anything from an alcoholic’s mouth.”

I see tears forming in his eyes. I have no intention to stop before finishing my words, though:

“There is one thing I want to share with you. Two of my men who were both badly injured has survived, and they called me this morning to let me know that they are going to get married on Sunday. I would be their only guest, but I just thought… I don’t want to ruin things, I also want to… spend a few days with you, Illu. I missed you. I really missed you.”

He wipes away a tear:

“Aarne… Is this why you were so excited?”

“Yes Illu. I also wanted to tell you that I am so sorry. I should get my life together, and I promise to try. I might fail again but I will try again and again, I promise that too. I… I could sense each time I made you sad by failing. I knew how much you cared about me, Illu, you always tried to hide your sadness but I knew it. I care so much about you too Illu, just not good with words…”

He gets up and hugs me so tightly. I feel his body shaking with sobs. I comfort him:

“It’s an honour to be your brother, even though I am a pain to you.”

“No Aarne… You are my everything. I will always stand with you.”

After dinner, I tell him about Simo and The Daisy Warrior. He smiles so much. He tells me about the basic wedding etiquettes. I note them down in my head.

I also show him the gifts I have carved. He loves them. He assures me that they are great as gifts.

We chat. He tells me about his wife, then about Liisa and how she learnt to walk recently. I smile widely. I tell him about the woodworks, the weather, basically anything but the alcohol. I finish all I have to say and see him still looking into my eyes. I open my mouth, saying in a proud tone:

“I poured the alcohol down the drain today.”

He hugs me.

When it is time for sleep, I make my blanket-bed on the floor, next to the bed.

“Good night, Aarne.”

“Good night, Illu.”

“Aarne, I love you. You are so brave. And it is an honour to be your brother.”

“I love you too Illu, too much…”

I sob from happiness, I sob to sleep. I know that he can hear it no matter how much I try to hide it. However, he says nothing.

And maybe I hear a few sobs that don’t belong to me, too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> BIGGGGGGGGGG SHOUTOUT TO FANGIRL who gave me the gift idea and the idea of Illu too!  
> Like, OMG!!!


	6. "...Untold Words In Your Heart."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Simo's POV. Simo remembers an old memory and suddenly realises how much he doesn't want to lose M.

When I wake up, he isn’t in the bed. He must be taking a walk, probably gone to buy some groceries, coffee and bread. We had some at home, though, some enough for a day or two.

I lay on the bed, not wanting to get up at all. I will get up when he comes. I reach the bedside table to check my watch. It is half-past eight. My fingers touch a piece of paper that was not there the night before. I frown confusedly, take it and bring it to my face to read it:

“Kettuseni, I’m gonna come back around nine. Rest till then, rest well my love.”

Why wouldn’t he write where he went? This confuses me further.

I try not to think, as my mind is my own biggest enemy -worse than the Red Army and even Stalin himself. When I closed my eyes and ears, I felt safe and away from them. But now, no matter what I do, my mind never stops. Little things affect me quite much. I always think of the worst, I believe. I sigh, again and again. I sing an old song to myself loudly, hoping that I can suppress the voice of the thoughts. I turn around, pull his pillow closer to me and bury my face in it. It smells like him. Just like his scent in the war, except tobacco. I wonder when he has stopped smoking. I inhale deeply. A little illusion embraces me, a dream of his warmth under the warm sun as we were standing on the frozen lake. I feel it once again, hugging him as clumsily as that time, him looking into my eyes…

I am startled with a hand on my shoulder. As I raise my head and see that it is him, the bed sinks a little with his weight. He doesn’t even bother to remove his coat, just spoons me from my back and pulls me to his heart.

“I am back, Kettuseni.”

“Where did you go?”

He senses both the worry and relief in my voice. His lips brushing my hair, his hand finding its home on the chest of my sweater, he speaks:

“To the church.”

Relief takes over. I feel the smile that tenses his lips upwards, right on my head. Taking his time to speak, burying his nose in my hair between the words and muffling his voice, I hear him say:

“I talked to the priest. No one else here… has been getting married… so he was thrilled to hear that... he could do a ceremony. He is free on Sunday… noon, just like we have estimated.”

I smile. He senses it and his hand squeezes my cheeks:

“I love that.”

“I love you.”

He pulls the blanket and wraps us in. I close my eyes, sleepy once again. He hugs me tighter and places his chin on my head, making me feel safe by his neck.

“I love you too much, Kettuseni, too much.”

After an hour, I wake up once again. I turn to him. He is deeply asleep.

I adjust my head and body next to his. We are like puzzle pieces, we fit together. My face to his neck, feeling his warm breath on my hair as he sleeps with his mouth slightly parted. One of my hands on his back, pulling myself closer. My one hand folded, fingers resting on his sweater chest, feeling his heartbeats. My feet between his, our socks matching and softly embracing each other. We always wrap the blanket tightly around us, it makes us hug closer.

I raise my chin and look at his face.

I remember the war.

Laying on the snow on my back, waiting for M to spot anything as his eyes were on the horizon. He would look so thoughtfully and carefully into his iron sight, hands touching his rifle so carefully as if it was made of glass. He would stay motionless, I could only sense his chest moving slightly in every breath. We wouldn’t speak. He would watch the land, I would watch him. In snow, in his white camouflage, his lips slightly parted to breathe out more carefully… I would gaze up and think, _Look at me. Look at me._

He wouldn’t notice that, how could he? He couldn’t read my mind. I never told those words to him either. Not even when he was in the military hospital. I felt helpless. Is there any word that is sadder than “helpless”? If there is, I could use them for my situation.

Our blanket is white, as white as snow. It reminds me of our long nights. It reminds me of just those days. I feel my heart collapsing in fear. I don’t want to lose him, I don’t want to lose him, I don’t want to lose him…

He opens his eyes. He looks concerned. His arms embrace me strongly:

“Kettuseni, kettuseni, what is happening?”

That’s the moment I realise that I am sobbing. I try to lie:

“It’s all okay, nothing, not…”

His fingers raise my chin, he brings his face close. Our noses touch. He knows that this is my weak point. Well, he is my weakness. He and his everything is my everything, my life, my meaning, my strength and my breaking point.

“Shh. You don’t have to hide it.”

I breathe in:

“I saw a nightmare.”

His eyebrows tense in an unnamed woe:

“My love, my love…”

I press my nose further to his, gulp down, and speak:

“I was getting shot in it.”

He pulls me tighter.

He doesn’t know that I lied. He seems to believe it.

“Kettuseni, kettuseni… You are all okay now, see?”

His thumb traces my scar. I nod thoughtlessly.

I get up in a swift motion. He is still laying on the bed, he looks at me in puzzlement. I quickly check the drawers and find new bedsheets and another blanket. With those in my hand, I speak, as if to change the subject:

“Let’s change the bedsheets and the blanket.”

“They are clean already, aren’t they?”

“Well… yes. But…”

“But what, Kettuseni? I am getting concerned. I just want you to relax, don’t pressure your…”

“We can change them today, we might forget in a few days.”

“Kettuseni, we never forget that. There is something else bugging you, isn’t there?”

He gets on his feet. His face looks serious. He puts his hands on my shoulder, his eyes cannot decide whether to be hurt or to be sad. I look away, turning my head. I realize that I have turned my scarred cheek to him, so I turn my other cheek in a quick motion. I do anything to escape his gaze.

He sighs. He doesn’t say anything. He lays back on the bed, looks at the ceiling.

“Kettuseni…”

He stops.

I look around the room as if I am busy. He finally speaks again:

“If you… you know… if you don’t want to… do this… You know. If you don’t want to... marr…”

“NO!”

He is alarmed by my loud voice.

I drop the blankets and the bedsheets to the ground. I start sobbing, trying to talk:

“My love… I… I didn’t see a nightmare… I just… Remembered…”

His face gets soft. He looks at me, his eyes in tears:

“What did you remember, Kettuseni?”

I cover my eyes with my hands and cry:

“The nights… In snow… I looked into your eyes… You looked at the horizon… I wanted to talk to you… I wanted to… tell you to… look at me. I have always been a…”

He is on his feet when I open my eyes. He whispers in my ear as he holds my trembling body with his caring hands:

“Shh, shh…”

“I was a coward… I could never tell you… how much I wanted to… stay with you forever… how much I… loved you… how much I still… love you… Words… words are hard…”

He shushes me with a sudden kiss. He makes it soft and long, my teardrops adding a salty taste on our lips.

“You are never a coward, Kettuseni. I just thought that I… I hurt you... I just thought that you started hating me suddenly...”

“You never hurt me, my dear wolf…”

“I… love you so dearly. I didn’t know that you felt so burdened by the… untold words in your heart.”

“Blanket reminded me of snow. I looked at your face… I felt like we were there… I was unable to tell you what I wanted to say in there _._ I was unable to say that in the hospital too. I felt like I was losing you each second. And even though… even though you were right next to me in the bed…”

“Don’t cry, Kettuseni, shh, don’t cry…”

“I felt like I was losing you once again in the snow.”

My sentence cuts both our hearts into pieces. He starts sobbing -and I have never stopped sobbing anyway.

“I am here, always here, you won’t lose me. Snow will only be our union, not our parting. I am here, Kettuseni, always here…”

“I know, I know, I know…”

He kisses me once again. This time both our teardrops mix. We sob into each other’s lips. We sigh, we inhale, we exhale. We are chaos. We are collapsing in each other’s arms, our castles are falling down. We just have each other.

When our sobs calm down, he looks deep into my eyes. I remember the clean frozen lake, the clear sky. I want to get lost in his eyes.

“Kettuseni.”

“Hm?”

He takes me to bed and lays down, pulls the blanket on himself. He is in white again. It reminds me of snow again. I inhale deeply, not ready for another sobbing session.

“Look, I am safe. War is over, Kettuseni. We are all okay. You didn’t lose me, I am here. I found you.”

I lay next to him and hug him. He continues, his arms pulling me under the blanket too:

“What did you want to tell me in there, Kettuseni?”

I answer, looking away:

“ _Look at me. Look at me._ ”

He directs my gaze to himself.

“My love…”

I let out a sob, trying to look away. He pulls my chin again:

“Shh, shh… Will you accept it if I look at you now just like how you wanted me to? Even if it’s been years?”

I nod with a lump in my throat. I whisper again and again:

“ _Look at me, look at me, look at me, look at me…_ ”

His blue gaze never strays away from my eyes, embracing my soul. His hands brushing my cheeks and hair, there isn’t even an inch between our eyes. Finally, our eyelashes touch and tickle each other. I smile, relieved, the heaviness in my heart lifting. He whispers on my lips:

“I will always keep you safe. From anything. Even from the hurting worries of your heart. Even from your darkest parts, I will protect you. Forever and ever.”

We kiss.

When we get up, he asks me reluctantly:

“Do you want to change the bedsheets?”

I answer quickly and confidently:

“No, not anymore.”

He embraces me.


	7. "Rich Soil, Tobacco, Sweat."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Simo notices the missing element of M's scent and happy to see him healthy. Also, this causes a conversation about Aarne Juutilainen and his drinking.

While eating our breakfast, he puts his fork down suddenly and smiles at me. I smile back, not understanding anything at all:

“What is it, my wolf?”

“Nothing… Just thinking of our wedding…”

I feel my cheeks blush. God, I wish I didn’t blush this much!

“No, I love your berry cheeks.”

I look at him, puzzled:

“Did I… say that out loud?”

“Yeah!”

He chuckles.

I scratch the back of my neck, blushing even more. I inhale and speak with a wide smile:

“Today is Friday, tomorrow is Saturday, then we are husbands!”

This time, he blushes.

It is the first time I see him blushing except the times we were drunk or in snow.

I pull him to myself this time and kiss him.

While parting, I say something that makes him blush even more:

“You taste like berries.”

He flips through my books, reads the pages that catch his interest. I look outside the window, the lovely sky.

“When did you stop smoking?”

He looks surprised:

“Oh? Well… After the injury.”

I nod. His curiosity decorates his question:

“But why?”

I smile to fuel that:

“Nothing, nothing.”

He carefully studies my expression. I have nothing but a smile.

“I can’t make any sense, Kettuseni?”

I walk up to him and look into his eyes. He looks at me. God, he _looks at me._ I smile even wider:

“Do you want to know the reason?”

“Yeah!”

I say only four words:

“Rich soil, tobacco, sweat.”

He frowns in puzzlement:

“Can I get a clue?”

I bury my nose in his neck:

“Your scent. Now it misses tobacco but has something sweeter somehow. Though, that day…”

He completes my sentence:

“When I showed you the frozen lake…”

“And how I got to smell your scent so close…”

“Your smile was as bright as a diamond, Kettuseni.”

He holds my cheeks, gazing on my lips, continuing:

“And that’s what I would do anything for.”

I chuckle. He chuckles too. He is a melody.

He holds me in his arms as we watch the sky from the window.

“I wanted to be healthy… Try my chance in healing. I quit smoking. My lungs healed a little easier after that. I quit it so that I could come back to you…”

While cooking dinner, a question pops into my head. I voice it aloud:

“Do you think Papa still drinks?”

“Oh, The Terror and his bottle… I often thought that it was stuck to his hand, impossible to separate…”

“He would even dance sometimes, remember? Singing. It was such a warm scene. When he was tired, he would sit down right next to us and laugh. And he would be proud of his little wooden carvings.”

He chuckles as I speak.

“He was so talented in carving. How sad it was that he hated them all once he was sober…”

“Maybe he doesn’t hate that anymore. He has a woodworks shop, after all. Maybe he is proud of his talent...”

“But that would mean that he is still drunk, wouldn’t it?”

I sigh.

“Let’s hope that there is a miracle that he… accepted his unique and impressive details instead of trying to suppress them and being ashamed.”

He smiles sadly:

“Let’s hope so… He was so nice to us…”

I put some soup in his bowl:

“He let us sleep in his tent even. Preparing us warm beds. Loved us and listened to our worries. Calmed us…”

“Even had warm soup ready for us.”

I smile:

“Well, my wolf, would you be surprised if I’ve told you that I stole the recipe of this soup from him?”

He chuckles:

“Wait, how is that?”

“He was drunk.”

That explains it all.

He was a great cook too but he was ashamed of it. It was so sad that he was ashamed of everything that we looked up to.

When he was drunk, he would smile and talk about his interests. He would tell us tons of random little facts about the world; they could be about history, wood carving, animals, trees, songs, even cooking. I complimented his soup one time and he went on to summarize the whole recipe. I wrote it down without making it obvious, then perfected it through the years.

I sigh and smile:

“Imagine The Terror… happy.”

“And proud of himself… I wish we saw that more…”

I put soup and food for myself too, so we eat.

He compliments my cooking. I hold his hand on the table.

He looks into my eyes:

“I just cannot wait… And, we will see Papa too!”

I smile widely:

“He was quite thrilled to hear it!”

“I bet he will be the happiest he has ever been in his life!”

“On the phone, I felt like his voice had traces of drunkenness but I think he sobered up in a second when he heard it!”

Papa always cared about us. When we came to the tent in the dawn, he would give us both a warm bowl of soup and speak even quieter than the wind:

“I am so proud of you.”

We would smile and say:

“Thank you, Papa…”

I think he thought we didn’t know who made the soup. Before he slipped that out of his mouth in a drunk night, we had asked him. He had answered:

“One of my men. He makes it as you go for the night. I save two bowls for you.”

Papa of course did not realise that he had a little problem in his lie. The soup would not stay warm for that long. We didn’t know why he tried to hide the fact that he cared about us too much until he slipped that out too on the same drunk night. It was quick and he didn’t even seem to think about it at all, hardly speaking:

“I make soup, to warm ya. Warm is important, ya know? I make it. Don’t care ‘f it takes time. I care. Care too much. Just ‘fraid if… ya know. Something. Something. Things happen’n all over. Everywhere. If somethin’ happen, I can’t lose you. Shouldn’t show that I care. Or I can’t afford… losing ya. Or losin’ myself. Nah, I can surely lose m’self. But not ya. I’ll make soup every night, this night ‘ncluded. Yeah.”

I and M were the only ones in his tent on that night, just about to leave for the night. After hearing his words, we got really emotional. When we thanked him and hugged him, he looked oblivious. He was totally unaware:

“Huh? What ‘ppened that ya hugging me?”

We didn’t remind him of that then, we didn’t remind him of that when he sobered either.

We just wrote in our heart that he cared and loved too much, more than he could ever hide.

M and I watch the sky darken. We get in bed.

White sheets don’t disturb me anymore. I don’t feel afraid or burdened. I only have uncontrollable excitement in me. He hugs me, kisses me long as we say goodnight.

I can’t fall asleep before he does. This is a strange and lovely feeling. I look at his calm face. His curly, dark blonde hair falls on his forehead. His lips so calm, how much I love to taste them... His cheeks and his fresh-shaven stubble that keeps tickling me. I love him. I snuggle closer to his heart and close my eyes as sleep calmly washes over me.


	8. "Only Excitement And Happiness"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aarne's POV, the day before the wedding, Illu decides to get a gift for the couple too. Also, Aarne faces a little problem in his decision to stay sober...

In the morning, my hand reaches my bedside table. My fingers touch the floor and I frown in puzzlement before remembering that I slept on the floor. This realisation brings an unnamed excitement in my heart as I get up and look at the bed.

My lovely brother. He looks so happy as he is sleeping. It reminds me of his childhood.

When I came back from war, the Civil War, he was just a child. I was fourteen in the war, feeding belts to the machine guns. He was four. I remember that after tasting war and smelling death for what seemed like forever, coming home and seeing his lively smile had made me believe in the purity of this world.

Of course, I couldn’t tell him all those. He was just a child, after all, he wouldn’t understand.

He would call me Aarne but making the “Aa” extra long. He would smile playfully and hug me. He was little, I would pick him up and turn, turn, turn. His feet would swing in the air and he would laugh. When I would put him on the ground, he would always hug me and say “I love you, Aaaarne!” Patting his hair, I would say: “I love you too, Illu.”

When he learnt to draw, he drew our family. He would draw me as the biggest, he would explain, “Because you pick me up and play with me!” When he learnt to write, he wrote me cute little notes filled with misspellings. Through the years, his spelling got better. He was 16 when I joined the French Foreign Legion. He wrote me a long letter, made me promise to read it when I go there.

So I kept my promise.

I opened the letter in the tent I set up on the Berber Mountains. It was really long. He had written about how his earliest memories were me hugging him and making him smile. How much he cared about me and wanted me to be safe. In the last line, he wrote how proud he was to have me that he would forever and ever tell that to his friends, having a hero brother!

I kept that letter for years. I still keep it.

Whenever alcohol took me -which was almost always-, I read that letter of his and cried.

All the times that I couldn’t manage to get sober, all the times that he tried to help me and I failed, I remembered the last line and cried silently.

Maybe that’s a reason why I am trying to quit alcohol.

Illu opens his eyes and smiles as a reflex. He tries to hide his smile though, getting serious. It hurts my heart. I know that he cannot trust me fully, after all my mistakes.

“Good morning, Illu.”

“Good morning, Aarne.”

He doesn’t say anything else. It hurts. I speak:

“We… we were good last night. Chatting. Smiling. Remember? You… said that you were proud of me.”

“Oh. Yes, I remember.”

I look away and open my arms. I close my eyes.

Just about to sigh, he hugs me.

“All my words are true, Aarne. I just don’t want you to feel pain anymore.”

“I know that I’m causing this upon myself…”

“You are trying to heal, Aarne, and you will heal.”

I cook breakfast. He calls his wife on the phone and informs her that he is okay. I can hear that she is concerned. She asks:

“Is he… you know… stable?”

I cannot really blame her. She has seen and heard the worst of me, a mess. Illu, however, cuts her words:

“He is always perfect.”

I hear her sigh on the other side of the phone.

“He… Ah. Look, just be careful, darling.”

My heart hurts. However, Illu’s words warm it.

“There is no need, love.”

“Alright… Oh, and what was the suit for?”

I smile to myself as I serve food on the plates. Illu speaks quickly to end the call and come join me at the table:

“A wedding that we will attend as guests. His soldiers in war.”

He once again summarizes the wedding etiquette. I nod and revise my knowledge. I feel quite excited and ready for tomorrow.

Illu is trying to think of a gift as I wash the dishes. His face suddenly lights up like a child and he gets on his feet. I turn to him, curious. He speaks:

“A dog.”

“A dog?”

“Yeah! In one of the photographs you showed me of them, they were petting a dog, weren’t they?”

I nod:

“Yes, the dog of a general that came for a visit… But… where will we even…”

“It means that they love dogs. Look, I know a friend around here whose dog had puppies some time ago…”

“Are we going to…”

“He was looking for homes for them. I think it will be great!”

I cannot really be sure, though. In the end, we decide to call Simo and The Daisy Warrior.

They pick up the call, their voices happy. I speak, stuttering from how hard social interaction is:

“Hello… Ah, I… well, we… are wondering if…”

“Papa, is it you?”

“Yeah, sorry I forgot to introduce myself…”

“It’s all okay! We were just talking about you yesterday!”

I smile in confusion:

“Me?”

“Yes, Papa! You and your soup.”

“Wait, what?”

“The soup you made for us in the tent, when we came back in the dawn. And the warm beds you prepared for us!”

I get shy. I feel Illu’s gaze on me, I look at him. He looks… almost emotional. I think he never knew this side of mine.

“But, how did you know it was me?”

“It slipped out of your mouth one night, Papa!”

“Well… I… hope it tasted good.”

“It was the best! That’s why we were talking about it. Also, we are quite excited to see you!”

“Thank you, really… I was going to ask…

“We’re listening.”

“I… I mean… Do you still like dogs? Like… We know someone whose dog had puppies, I mean… I don’t know him but Illu does… So…”

“Illu?”

“You know, my b…”

“OH MY GOD! YOUR BROTHER!”

Their excited voice hurts my ear. I take the phone just a bit away from my ear. I can see tears forming in my brother’s eyes, he is hearing all those.

“Yes, yes… I called him for a visit… And to be a guest, you know…”

“Papa, it is thrilling to hear that you are together again. We remember you showing us photographs of him, news articles of him in a little box that you kept in your chest pocket… You loved him so much!”

A tear falls from my eyes. Illu wipes it away and I see that he is already sobbing.

“I love him so much.”

Illu whispers silently:

“I love you too, Aarne.”

Simo and The Daisy Warrior can’t hear it on the other side of the phone. They continue:

“Papa, we of course love dogs and we would love to have one… Also having Ilmari Juutilainen as a wedding guest will be a great honour for us!”

I thank them.

We close the phone with “See you tomorrow”s and I start sobbing loudly.

Illu hugs me.

Illu and I try out suits on once again, standing in front of the mirror. Our looks are matching. Just… I feel a need in me.

I suddenly walk to the kitchen and open every drawer one by one. I check the cupboards and everything. Frustrated, I go to my bedroom and check my closet. I find it.

My poison: alcohol.

I touch the cold bottle. I want to open it and drink, just like how I did every day. I hear Illu’s footsteps behind me as I am stuck in indecisiveness.

“Aarne…”

“Illu, look…”

“You have to stay sober, please…”

I sigh. I really have to. But… The bottle tells me otherwise.

What would it take, anyway? To drink, just a little bit. Just a little… A few drops. I control my hands, however.

“Aarne.”

I turn to him, the bottle still in my hand.

“You know, I drank so that you wouldn’t.”

“What?”

“You learnt the bad side of alcohol from me. And you never drank. I did a favour for you.”

“Aarne, you can’t excuse your alcoholism like that.”

“Let me excuse one thing in life. It’s so tiring to always be the faulty one.”

“Aarne, I didn’t say that you were faulty…”

“I always saw your sadness in your eyes, each time I failed.”

“Because I loved you, Aarne.”

I sigh. My fingers play with the cap of the bottle.

“You saw the bad side… yes… You never drank. I kept you safe from alcoholism, didn’t I?”

He sighs too. He doesn’t speak. I continue:

“I always wanted to protect you. I failed, I know. This was the only little good result of my bad addiction, right? You never took my path.”

I let him take the bottle from my hand. I follow him to the bathroom and watch it as he pours it down the drain.

I whisper to myself:

“What have I become…”

He says nothing. Just hugs me once again.

We stay still just like that, for about ten minutes. I hug him tight enough to hear his heart. I feel like we are both young once again. I pick him up.

A chuckle escapes his mouth. I turn, turn and turn.

Yes, he is heavy. Yet, I am strong. His arms embrace me and I look at his face. The bright smile of the little boy I remember from years ago.

“You know, Illu, I can’t do without you.”

When I put him on the ground, he whispers and we chuckle:

“I’ve always wanted to live this again.”

We visit his friend. I wear nice, clean clothes for that. Illu and his friend chat briefly and we take the puppy. His friend thanks us for the nice home we will give her.

It is night and we watch the puppy sleep on the bed like a little miracle. I voice out my worry:

“Illu, what if I mess everything up?”

He looks at me, tilting his head:

“Aarne, you are really doing your best. I will be there with you too. And remember, they called you as their guest because they trust you.”

I nod. He goes on:

“You cared so much about them. Like, I heard just today that you made soup for them at dawn. They knew your love, Aarne, your warm heart.”

I smile:

“You are right… Maybe there is nothing to worry about.”

“Just like that. Only excitement and happiness.”

I feel like a little kid as it takes time for me to fall sleep. I simply cannot relax, I am far too thrilled. I whisper to myself as I finally feel the dreams embrace me:

“Only excitement and happiness.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ARE WE READY FOR THE WEDDING CHAPTER, EVERYONE?!  
> Not going to proofread this because I will simply write the wedding chapter now, can't wait.


	9. "Why Are You So Perfect?"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Simo's POV.   
> THE LONG-AWAITED WEDDING. BUCKLE UP BECAUSE HELL, THIS IS GONNA BE GOOD.

“Kettuseni, open your eyes. It’s the day!”

His smile warms me. I cannot believe that the day has come.

We chose our flower bouquet yesterday and practised our wedding vows. Our day was actually highlighted within Papa’s call. He even mentioned his brother too and that made us think that Papa was staying sober.

M kisses me as we get up. It is early in the morning, half-past seven. We cook together, enjoying every moment. Our heartbeats are quite fast and we cannot stop gazing into each other’s eyes. When I finish cooking and put the pan down, he pulls me to himself in one swift motion and kisses me. I pull back to breathe, yet he kisses me again. I smile shyly.

“Kettuseni… I’m gonna be your husband…”

His voice is so amazed. His eyes have sparkles, the whole Milkyway just like the long war nights. I wish the time to freeze at that moment, only to look at that lively smile forever.

We eat, not able to contain our joy. Once in a few minutes, one of us whispers “Oh my God!” and our eyes meet. It feels like a dream.

Honestly, I wouldn’t even be surprised if I woke up now in The Terror’s tent, another war morning. It all feels unreal.

Do I even deserve all this? All the warmth, all the smiles on my face? Do I even deserve to love myself at all? On this wicked earth, do I deserve to have a place and to love the sunrises, sunsets, landscapes, birdsongs? Do I deserve to witness the artwork of God, that smile on his face?

He thinks so. He thinks I deserve everything and even more. As his hands treasure my every detail and his lips keep tasting mine, I almost feel that I belong to this world and joy belongs in me. I feel young.

It comes time to wear our wedding suits.

I take my suit and go to the bathroom. He wears his in our bedroom.

I do my buttons, sighing in each one. I look at the mirror, brush my hair and give it a shape. I don’t forget my tie this time. My chest keeps shaking with my strong heartbeats. My hands start shaking too, so I stop for a little while.

I turn my face to see my scar more clearly. I wonder, how did he love me like this? Is that even possible? However, these thoughts disappear as I remember the softness of his fingers on my scar. He noticed every detail and embraced them with love. With him, I can be my weakest. I can be my true self, reveal my core. He loves me.

I wear my jacket and my suit is completed. I chuckle shyly as I step out of the bathroom.

He is there, sunlight from the window giving his cheeks a sweet pink. I gulp down, amazed. An angel is standing in front of me, his eyes carry the blue of the sky. An angel is smiling at me. An angel is marrying me today.

“Oh my…”

“You look breathtaking...”

“You are stunning, my love…”

I get on the tip of my toes and pull him to myself from his chin. He picks me a few inches off the ground and kisses me.

I think one can never get used to his kisses. Always a poem on his lips, honey in my mouth.

We walk to the church in our wedding suits. We look quite absurd, to be honest. Two men in suits, hopping their way happily through the woods. We don’t care, though. There is no one anyway. Just him and me.

We arrive there at eleven o’clock. The priest makes coffee for us. We see that he had decorated around with a few roses. He brings us the bouquet: blue and white roses. We smile.

He chats with us a little bit:

“You know, not much people live in here anymore, none of them is young. Young has gone to the city. I used to do ceremonies, all this place would be full. Would be full of laughter.”

He looks melancholic. Then he shakes into joy:

“I’m so glad that you came. Will be lovely to do a ceremony after all these years.”

M smiles and puts his hand on my shoulder. However, I sigh:

“Uhm… You are so nice, truly so nice. It’s just… You don’t find us weird.”

The priest shrugs and smiles:

“Why would I find you weird?”

“Because… we are lovers.”

The priest is quite an old man and I see that he is equally wise as he speaks:

“My child, you never hurt anyone. You love each other, protect each other, open your hearts to each other. I have no say in that, except wedding you. No one has a say in that, except witnessing your love. So, my child, be delighted, as today is your special day.”

I look at the floor, emotional. M kisses my tears away.

The church’s door opens and we see two figures enter and call out:

“Anyone there?”

M and I get up. I see The Terror and his brother, dressed in perfect grey jackets and black pants, along with matching blue and white striped ties. His brother is also holding a really cute puppy in his hand. I run to Papa and hug him. M runs and hugs him too. He freezes. I look at his face to detect if anything is wrong. He only whispers as he hugs me and M:

“I missed you too much.”

Ilmari shakes our hands:

“It’s such an honour to meet you and to be here!”

“It’s such an honour to meet you face to face, Herra Juutilai…”

“Just Ilmari would be enough, plus I am nine years younger than you.”

We chuckle.

“We have heard a lot about you, Ilmari.”

“And I have heard a lot about you two!”

We pet the puppy. She has the loveliest eyes a dog can ever have. She wiggles her tail, her woof sounding like a little toy. We thank Ilmari so warmly.

Priest chats with Papa and Ilmari as M takes the flower bouquet in his hand and takes his place. The priest takes his papers and book, gives us a signal. Papa and Ilmari sit down. The puppy is so well-behaved as she curls into a little ball on Ilmari’s lap and watches us.

It looks a little funny, to be honest. Every seat is empty except two. Yet, our guests have such deep smiles that are enough to fill the whole church with joy.

The priest smiles at us and speaks:

“It is such a wonderful sunny Sunday to bear witness to such a special union of two hearts. Welcome and thank you for coming here and lightening the day further!”

Priest continues:

“When I heard about these young men, I was thrilled to have to opportunity to be the one to unite their hearts with a ceremony. I do not personally know them, yet their eyes write a thousand pages of love stories to each other within every gaze. I would like to invite Herra Aarne Juutilainen here to share a few words if he would desire.”

I see Papa surprised. He bites his lip in stress, not knowing what to say. Ilmari reassures him and encourages him to speak. Papa gets up and comes next to us. He breathes in:

“I… I’m not good at this. Hell… sorry, sir, didn’t mean to curse… I haven’t been a guest at any wedding before. But… if I got to share some stuff about our couple… Hell… sorry again, sir… I haven’t seen anything sweeter than the way they look at each other. They were a perfect duo, a warm harmony, the never-ending energy. They were magnets that pulled each other close. I simply knew that they could never part, and being here in this moment I feel pure joy.”

I feel my eyes burning. I have never heard Papa talk about his feelings like that before. He sounds so sincere. I wipe my tears and he continues:

“I gotta say… I am sober for three days! I wanted to make all of you proud, and to witness your happiest day soberly…”

M and I hug him from both sides. He chuckles. His smile is even warmer than those times that he was drunk.

Priest claps his hands:

“What a lovely blessing, it is! Herra Juutilainen, what an achievement!”

Papa sits down and Ilmari pats his back proudly.

“Now, we will include the readings. Herra Ilmari Juutilainen, would you be interested in sharing reading with us?”

I see how similar Ilmari’s face is to Papa’s when he gets surprised. This makes me smile. He gives the puppy to Papa and she starts licking his hand. Ilmari walks up to us and speaks:

“I will improvise this, so may God help me. Alright. Marriage is not only a word, not an agreement. It is the bonding of two souls. Two lives become one, two worlds become one. This, however, makes life vaster. You hear a heart on yours, you feel a hand on yours. You share your roots, growing together to the stars. May our couple be blessed forever.

We shake his hand. He smiles and sits down.

“What a lovely reading, Herra Juutilainen. You have a talent to improvise!

The priest addresses my name. I stand straight, breathe in deeply.

He addresses M’s name. I feel goosebumps. I look into his face, lost in the moment. His curly hair that looks like an art piece. His cheeks that carry a slight dimple as he smiles wide. He looks at me with his bouquet in his hand.

“Just like Herra Ilmari Juutilainen has mentioned, marriage is sacred. I have no doubt that you gentlemen will be as close as a sole soul. Now, would you read your vows, dear grooms?”

I breathe in:

“I take you, my wolf, to be my husband. I promise to be true to you in good times and in bad, in sickness and in health, in peace and in combat. The amount of love I have in me will only increase every moment. I promise to curl in your arms every night, hear your heartbeats every day. I promise to hug you tight, I promise to walk with you all the way. This is my solemn vow.”

I see Papa wiping his tears to his striped tie. Ilmari tries to warn him but he starts sobbing and does the same. The priest is about to cry too.

M speaks, standing in front of me:

“I take you, Kettuseni, to be my husband. I promise to be true to you in good times and in bad, in sickness and health, in peace and in combat. The amount of love I have in me will only increase every moment. I promise to keep you safe in my arms every night, listen to your melodic voice every day. I promise to hold you tight, I promise to be with you all the way. This is my solemn vow, to be your home.”

I can hardly hold my sobs back.

The priest gives us the rings that we have given him before the ceremony. I take M’s ring, kiss it and place it on his finger. He takes my ring, places it on my finger and kisses my hand. I feel his lips brush my hand so gently, I close my eyes with love.

The priest speaks with a smile:

“You may seal your marriage with a kiss.”

Papa and Ilmari nod encouragingly. Their eyes are still wet. I get on the tip of my toes and M leans in. His hands pull me from my back and my hands pull him from his cheeks. Our lips unite.

I feel his lips so soft on mine. He moves his head slightly to kiss me better. He leans even more and his arms embrace me without even breaking the kiss. He kisses me deeper. My hands reach the back of his neck and I pull myself upwards. Our noses bump but we don’t care as long as our lips are hugging. He tastes like coffee and it makes me smile into the kiss. We part just half an inch to breathe, and he doesn’t miss the chance to whisper:

“Why are you so perfect?”

Before I could say anything, his lips are on mine again. I respond energetically.

When we part, he plants a little kiss on the tip of my nose. I chuckle and he squeezes my cheeks, whispering, “Kettuseni…”

“My lovely wolf…”

I hear clapping.

Papa can’t hold himself and he shouts:

“Sorry sir in advance, but fucking hell! Look how cute they are! I fucking knew that you were made for each other!”

The priest is caught off-guard but he chuckles. We blush. M suddenly picks me up and kisses me again. Papa whistles:

“I’m so fucking glad that I am sober!”

Ilmari tries to warn him silently, but he objects:

“Come on Illu, I cannot and simply will not fucking hold myself back!”

M plays with my hair as I press my head to his chest. We laugh. Even the puppy woofs happily.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Damn, I cried.  
> Also, we are all Aarne. F-ing s..., they are cute as hell!


End file.
